Chapter 11
Jalen
I woke up before my alarm, which almost never happened on game day.
Usually, there's a heavy weight in my chest the morning of a home game.
It isn't fear, just acute awareness.
Seventy thousand people expecting something from you has a way of settling deep into your bones.
But this morning felt lighter.
I lay there for a minute staring at the ceiling, replaying our late-night conversation.
More specifically, I was replaying her laugh.
Amara.
She'd laughed when I called her that, and the sound had followed me all the way into sleep.
I checked my phone.
No new notifications.
Good.
I sent her the stadium details anyway.
VIP Lot Blue.
Family entrance.
I’ll have a driver take you.
She replied almost immediately.
We’re driving ourselves.
I stared at the screen for a second.
You sure?
Yes.
I want the option to leave when I want.
I smiled.
Under the circumstances, I completely understood her need for an escape route.
Alright.
Text me when you get here.
Football is unpredictable, but my pre-game routine isn't.
Years of rigid discipline had turned the morning into pure muscle memory.
It started with a brief, freezing shower, just long enough to shock my system awake and clear my head.
From there, I headed downstairs to the home gym for light, controlled movements designed to activate my muscles without burning energy I would desperately need later.
Breakfast was equally predictable.
Fresh fruit, morning oats, and a gallon of water.
The franchise nutrition staff would probably have a heart attack if they knew how badly I wanted a stack of greasy pancakes on game days.
By the time I finished eating, there was nothing left to do except trust the work.
I had my driver take me to the stadium.
With the tinted windows cracked slightly, the warm morning air drifted through the back seat as we navigated the highway.
The city always looked different on game day.
People were already flooding the streets in jerseys.
Team flags fluttered from truck beds, and sports radio blasted through open windows at every stoplight.
Everyone was heading toward the exact same destination.
By the time we pulled into the stadium, the energy was already building.
You could feel it before you even walked inside.
Staff moved quickly through the hallways.
Equipment carts rolled across concrete floors.
Security personnel checked credentials.
Coaches paced with clipboards and laminated play sheets in hand.
The closer kickoff got, the faster everything seemed to move.
The locker room was its own world.
Music blasted from someone's speaker.
A few guys were locked into conversations.
Others sat quietly at their lockers staring into space.
I made my way to my locker and sat down.
For a few minutes, I closed my eyes and just took it all in.
The moments before everything started. Before I get to see Mars again.
Eventually a shadow appeared in front of me.
I opened my eyes and stood Coach Washington.
"You ready?"
I smiled.
"Been ready all week."
He nodded once and that was all he needed to hear.
As he walked away, my phone buzzed one final time.
Mars.
A picture appeared on the screen of the outside of the arena with a caption that read, "first football game vibes." She was here. I couldn't help but get excited. I know I was playing for thousands of people, but it really felt like I was playing for Mars.
Warmups had already started when I spotted Cal near the sideline, hands in his jacket pockets, talking like he wasn’t standing ten feet from a national broadcast.
I jogged over, helmet tucked under my arm.
“You good?” he asked without greeting.
“Always,” I replied.
He studied my face for a second like he was looking for something specific. “You slept?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded once, satisfied enough. “She’s here.”
My eyes shifted automatically toward the lower bowl family section, but he grabbed my arm lightly before I could start scanning like a rookie.
“Don’t be obvious,” he muttered.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I took a slow breath and adjusted my gloves.
“Appreciate you,” I told him.
“For what.”
“For not letting her do this alone.”
He nodded once. “She’s my sister.”
Before I could respond, one of my teammates jogged up asking about a route adjustment. Cal stepped back, letting me shift gears.
Focus returned and I began to do quick reps.
But even while moving, I felt it.
Mars.
The crowd wasn’t full yet, but the energy was building. Cameras sweeping. Music rising.
I told myself I’d wait.
Then I looked up.
And saw her.
She was standing beside Nia, sunglasses on, posture relaxed like she’d been here before. The shorts. The heels. The silk press falling clean down her back.
My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline.
She looked calm, beautiful and unbothered.
I tried to go back to drills, but I lasted about thirty seconds.
I handed my helmet to the equipment guy like I needed a quick adjustment and started walking toward the sideline.
Cal was mid-sentence about something completely unrelated to football.
I glanced toward the tunnel as more teammates filtered out for final warmups. Cleats scraping. Music pulsing low through the stadium speakers. The air had that charged game-day thickness to it.
And then Cal stopped talking.
He didn’t finish his sentence.
He just smirked.
I followed his line of sight.
And saw her.
She was walking down the sideline toward us with Nia beside her. She wasn't moving rushed or timid.
For a second everything around me softened and the crowd noise dulled. The chatter blurred.
Cal leaned closer to me and said, "Ya'll got this."
My eyes dragged lower before I could stop them. Slow. Appreciating the way her thighs filled out those shorts. The confident sway in her step. The way she didn’t hesitate even with cameras somewhere nearby.
By the time she reached us, I realized I’d gone quiet.
She pushed her sunglasses up slightly as she got closer, just enough that I could see her eyes.
God.
“You made it,” I said.
It came out softer than I intended.
She glanced around at the field, then back at me.
Cal stepped aside with Nia, and suddenly it was just us.
The stadium felt louder now.
I took a half step in. Close enough to smell her perfume.
"You look amazing,” I told her.
She gave me that sideways look.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said, motioning lightly toward my uniform.
That made me laugh.
I reached up, brushed that loose piece of hair away from her cheek without thinking.
It felt instinctive.
Just something my body did before my brain caught up.
Then she leaned in and kissed me.
A kiss that I've thought about since I first stepped into that elevator.
It was quick, soft and real.
It didn’t feel staged.
It felt like two people who were already comfortable.
Her lips left mine, but the warmth stayed.
It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. It wasn’t long. But it landed somewhere deeper than I expected.
For a second I just stood there looking at her, trying to reset my breathing before I put my helmet back on.
She smiled at me like nothing about that moment was staged.
Like she’d meant it.
Then Cal and Nia reappeared beside her, and stadium staff stepped in to escort them toward the VIP stands.
I watched her walk away.
I shouldn’t have. I needed to be locked in.
But I did.
The sway in her hips wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn’t attention-seeking. It was just the natural rhythm of someone comfortable in her body. Confident without trying.
And I saw it. The quick glances from a couple of my teammates. It wasn't disrespectful—they knew better than that—but it was definitely noticing.
Something in my chest tightened, a sudden, sharp knot that caught me completely off guard. I tried to tell myself it wasn't jealousy. We were just executing a play call, managing a PR crisis, and keeping the media at bay. But as I watched those eyes track her across the room, the excuse felt thin.
It was more of a fierce, unyielding feeling of protectiveness. The realization hit me that I didn't just want to control the narrative anymore; I wanted to stand between her and every single eye in the room.
It surprised me how fast that instinct kicked in.
She wasn’t “mine” in any official way. This whole thing had started as strategy. But watching her move through that space, knowing she was stepping into my world for the first time, knowing cameras were on her, knowing eyes were tracking her…
I wanted to make sure she felt steady.
She reached the section and turned once, scanning the field. Our eyes met again across the distance.
I exhaled slowly and adjusted my gloves.
I had to tell myself to focus.
I grabbed my helmet from the equipment guy and headed toward the line for the anthem, shoulders loose, mind narrowing.
But I carried something different into that formation.
The final whistle hit and the stadium erupted.
We’d pulled it out late.
I barely remember the last snap. Just the release. The catch. The roar.
Hands slapped my helmet. Teammates yelling. Somebody shoved me from behind in celebration.
But even in the chaos, my eyes drifted upward.
I glanced up at the suite level, but I couldn’t see her clearly from that distance, however, I knew where she was.
And the only thought running through my head wasn’t about stats or headlines.
It was, I hope she’s enjoying this moment and not too overwhelmed.
We shook hands with the other team. Quick words exchanged. Respect given. Cameras in our faces before we’d even cleared midfield.
I gave the quick network hit first. Standard stuff.
The sideline reporter thrust the microphone toward my face, the bright stadium lights reflecting off the lens of the massive camera hovering just inches away. I kept my breathing steady, forcing my racing pulse to slow down as I delivered the exact script the media relations team loved.
“How does it feel to get the win, Jalen?”